


A Certain Pang of Grief

by lielabell



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angry Erik, Angst, Charles is a Martyr, Emotionally Constipated Men, Heartbreak, M/M, Self-Fulfilling Prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lielabell/pseuds/lielabell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once a year Charles lets himself <i>remember</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So I Wait For You

On this date ten years ago, Charles felt a presence in the water. He startled, cried out in alarm, and then dove into the dark waves, chasing after that brilliantly fractured mind, with no thought of his own safety at all. 

After all this time, even with everything that has happened, all the hurt that lies between them, Charles cannot find it in him to regret that choice. 

He doesn't regret the instant connection, the way their minds seemed to shimmer against each other. He doesn't regret the way he pressed tight against that wonderfully fascinating mind, rubbing his consciousness alongside it like a cat. That thrill of acknowledgment. _You are not alone_ echoing inside both of them. How could he regret it? Without Erik, Charles never would have experienced the single greatest moment of joy he has ever known.

He doesn't regret any of it, if he's honest. Not a second. Not even the bitterness of the losing Erik, the cold, hard look in his eyes the moment before he turned away, is enough to change Charles's mind on that count. He had known from the beginning how it would end, it was all laid out plain as day in Erik's mind. Their difference would never be bridged, their paths would never be one. Charles had hoped, of course, that the final rupture wouldn't happened for years, decades even, but he knew it was there, waiting in the wings for its moment to arrive. And when it did, on that unimportant stretch of beach in Cuba, Charles wasn't surprised at all. 

Hurt, yes. Of course he was. How could he not be, when the man he loved turned his back on him? Hurt and angry and so overwhelmingly sad that it took nearly a month before he could hear Erik's name without flinching. But surprised? Not at all.

Nothing Erik has ever done has surprised him. Nothing ever will. Not when Charles still retains his memories of the other man's mind. All the wonderful possibilities, the things that may be. As fine tuned and well organized as a Swiss watch, beautifully intricate, but with the leashed power of an atomic bomb at its core. Even now, years removed from the reality of it, Charles can't help but feel a pulse of excitement when he remembers what it was like to touch, to twine around that delicious mind. 

And that says nothing of the man himself, his physical presence, the way he dominates every space he is in, draws all eyes just by stepping into the room. Oh, how Charles preens in that presence, his spine as straight as he can make it, his eyes sparkling a bit more than they ought, smiling up at a man who can barely stand him. 

That pull, as strong now as it ever was, is enough to make Charles weep. His affections are not desired, have never truly been reciprocated. Charles never deluded himself enough to think that they were. Not even when things were still right between them, when Erik still welcomed his touch, both mental and physical. The _I love yous_ that poured so effortlessly from his lips never once crossed Erik's. His kisses, while raw and passionate, were never sweet. And his mind, his beautiful, intoxicating mind, never once resonated with love.

 _Love_. The emotion that colors every aspect of Charles's impression of Erik. And how could it not? How could it be anything but love that drove him? Motivated him to do what little he could for the other man. Erik is stronger now, better for his time with Charles, no matter what he may think. And, pathetic as it may be, knowing that makes everything Charles has gone through worth it. Because love is like that. It makes you want the best for the one you adore, even if the best means you not having them by your side.

Even if the best means forever watching from the sidelines, forever wanting, and forever being denied. 

_I'll love you till I die_ Charles said, over and over-- in between kisses, over the beat of music in a club, alone together in a seedy motel room, in the silence of their minds-- _I'll love you forever_ he vowed, knowing in the center of his being that it was true. His words, his pledge, had been meet with rolled eyes, exasperated sighs, and the pronouncement that he was a fool. But that didn't stop Charles from saying it, again and again. Because it was true, because he knew there would come a time when he couldn't say it at all. 

How Erik would laugh, his mouth stretched wide in that feral smile, if he knew how desperately Charles still craved him. How those words still echo in his mind whenever Erik is near.

It's pathetic. It makes his insides burn. Makes him want to lash out, scream his anguish for all the world to hear. But what good would that do him? It wouldn't make Erik want him, wouldn't make Erik care. So Charles tamps it down, shoves it deep within his mind, buries it under layers and layers of shields, until only the smallest hint of it remains. Just enough to brighten his eyes, to bring out his smile. 

But once a year, on the anniversary of the day they met, Charles lets his shields down, lets himself revel in it all, wallows in the details. Drowns himself in the memory of what it felt like, the moment they met.

On this date ten years ago, Charles fell in love. In an instant, in a moment. Quicker than it took him to dive into the sea. Once a year Charles lets himself _remember_. 

_so I wait for you like a lonely house  
till you will see me again and live in me.  
Till then my windows ache._

From Sonnet LXV -- Pablo Neruda


	2. While There Is Still Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It eats at him, the way Charles is able to ignore everything they were, everything they _are_.

It eats at him, the way Charles is able to ignore everything they were, everything they _are_.

How can he smile so sweetly? How can his eyes dance with pleasure every time they met? Like nothing happened, like they are the friends Charles so blithely claims them to be. 

It festers inside of him, the ache of Charles's casual disregard. Makes him grit his teeth, makes him terse with the man. Makes him tease and taunt and lash out in hopes of getting any reaction other than bland indifference. 

He burns in Charles presence, uncomfortable in his own skin. Feeling hot and itchy, unsure of himself in ways he never is anymore. Lord, how he burns.

It shames him, this need of his to matter to a man who no longer cares for him. A man who once claimed to love him, who promised over and over to love him until he died. But Erik is still very much alive, and Charles love for him is nowhere to be found.

Ten years, it's been, since that night. The only night that matters anymore. The one where Erik chased after what he wanted most and found something he needed more. Ten years since the words _you are not alone_ rang into his mind, opening him up to a world of possibility, a world filled with promise and joy and _Charles_. Always Charles, mind twisting round him like quicksilver -- bright and deadly. 

And in two months it will be ten years since those possibilities vanished, since Charles's mind slammed shut, leaving Erik forever outside. Forever alone.

Erik hates that it still matters, that he still cares after all this time. How long will it last, he wonders. How long will he go on mourning the loss of something that was never meant to be his?

He knew, even in the beginning, how it would be. Charles had claimed to "know" everything about him, that none of it mattered because he saw the good in Erik too. But Erik was aware in ways Charles never could be that academic knowledge of his past actions would not translate into acceptance of future ones. He knew that when Charles was confronted with something concrete, something other than the abstract, he would distance himself, turn cold.

Erik had never allowed himself to be deluded on that front. In that, at least, he never played the fool. 

He takes scant comfort from it, though. Knowing, as he does, how very much a fool he was in other respects. He should have never given in, should have held back more than he did. His mouth should not have kissed. His hands should never have reached, never should have taken. His heart should not have loved. 

_Loved._ What a weak, pathetic word. How useless it is to describe the writhing rush of feeling, the tangled knot of hope and fear that rose up in him whenever Charles had been near. The way his hands shook, like an untried youth, the first time he touched Charles's pale skin. The way he had reverently kissed the freckle on Charles's hip, amazed and astonished that he was welcome, that he was _allowed._

Oh, the way his heart had danced in his chest whenever Charles moaned, the joy that came from giving and giving and giving, until Charles was a foul-mouthed wreck in his arms. 

He lets himself remember, sometimes, the way it felt to touch and be touched. To hear that hitch in Charles breath, the one that meant he was on the verge of peaking. The way his eyes went impossibly wide. How lovely he looked after his release, flushed and panting with his sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead. 

He lets himself remember what it felt like, to hear those precious words, empty as they may have been. How he had clung desperately to the hope that Charles might mean them, even though he knew how impossible it was. _I'll love you forever_ Charles promised him, night after night _I'll love you till I die_.

 _Until you kill them_ , he should have said. _Until you make a choice I don't agree with. Until you turn your back on me. I'll love you ‘til then, ‘til a beach on Cuba. Until you shoot me in the back, no matter how accidentally it may be. And after that, I won't love you anymore. I won't look at you like you matter, like you are the only one in the world. I won't smile just for you. I won't say your name like a prayer. I won't act like you ever mattered at all._

_After that "my friend" is all you will ever be._

_And even that will be a lie._

_We won't talk mind to mind. We won't share our thoughts, our dreams. We won't shape anything except enmity. Anger. Hate._

Because that is what it is, growing between them now. That and a deep seated bitterness that rots inside of Erik, that digs in deeper every time he sees that stupid, bland smile on Charles's face. Every time he see how little he matters now. 

Ten years, it's been, since that moment in the sea. That moment where Erik let go of one future and picked up another. Ten years of _you are not alone_ rolling about in his mind. But somehow, at the end of them, he's here, in his room, with nothing but his memories to keep him company with all the joy and promise of that night washed away as if they had never existed at all.

_we should be careful  
Of each other, we should be kind  
While there is still time._

From “The Mower” -- Philip Larkin


End file.
